“The ladies looked old,” I say. “Like week-old balloons, all puffy and droopy.”
Alice makes a face of distaste. “Can you imagine trying to perform Telogo without rejoo? We wouldn’t have had the time. Half of us would have been past our prime, and we’d have needed understudies, and then the understudies would have had to find understudies. Fifteen years. And these women throw it all away. How can they throw away something as beautiful as Telogo?”
“You thinking about Kara?”
“She would have played Telogo twice as well as I did.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it. She was the best. Before she went kid-crazy.” She sighs.
“I miss her.”
“You could still visit her. She’s not dead yet.”
“She might as well be. She’s already twenty years older than when we knew her.” She shakes her head. “No. I’d rather remember her in her prime, not out at some single-sex work camp growing vegetables and losing the last of her talent. I couldn’t stand listening to her play now. It would kill me to hear all of that gone.” She turns abruptly. “That reminds me, my rejoo booster is tomorrow. Can you take me?”
“Tomorrow?” I hesitate. I’m supposed to be on another shift popping kids. “It’s kind of short notice.”
“I know. I meant to ask sooner but with the concert coming up, I forgot.” She shrugs. “It’s not that important. I can go by myself.” She glances at me sidelong. “But it is nicer when you come.”
What the hell. I don’t really want to work anyway. “Okay, sure. I’ll get Pentle to cover for me.” Let him deal with the dinosaurs.
“Really?”
I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a sweet guy.”
She smiles and stands on tiptoe to kiss me. “If we weren’t going to live forever, I’d marry you.”
I laugh. “If we weren’t going to live forever, I’d get you pregnant.”
We look at each other. Alice laughs unsteadily and takes it as a joke.
“Don’t be gross.”
Before we can talk any more, Illoni pops out from behind a bonsai and grabs Alice by the arm. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You can’t hide yourself like this. You’re the woman of the hour.”
She pulls Alice away with all the confidence that must have made New York believe she could save it. She barely even looks at me as they hustle off. Alice smiles tolerantly and motions for me to follow. Then Maria’s calling to everyone and pulling them all together and she climbs up on a fountain’s rim and pulls Alice up beside her. She starts talking about art and sacrifice and discipline and beauty.
I tune it out. There’s only so much self-congratulation you can take. It’s obvious Alice is one of the best in the world. Talking about it just makes it seem banal. But the donors need to feel like they’re part of the moment, so they all want to squeeze Alice and make her theirs, so they talk and talk and talk.
Maria’s saying, “…wouldn’t be standing here congratulating ourselves, if it weren’t for our lovely Alice. Hua Chiang and Telogo did their work well, but in the final moment it was Alice’s execution in the face of Telogo’s ambitious piece that has made it resonate so strongly already with the critics. We have her to thank for the piece’s flawlessness.”
Everyone starts applauding and Alice blushes prettily, not accustomed to adulation from her peers and competitors. Maria shouts over the cheering, “I’ve made several calls to Banini, and it is more than apparent that he has no answer to our challenge and so I expect the next eighty years are ours. And Alice’s!” The applause is almost deafening.
Maria waves for attention again and the applause fades into scattered whistles and catcalls which finally taper off enough to allow Maria to continue. “To commemorate the end of Banini’s age, and the beginning of a new one, I would like to present Alice with a small token of affection—” and here she leans down and picks up a jute-woven gift bag shot with gold as she says, “Of course a woman likes gold and jewels, and strings for her viola, but I thought this was a particularly apt gift for the evening…”
I’m leaning against the woman next to me, trying to see as Maria holds the bag dramatically above her head and calls out to the crowd, “For Alice, our slayer of dinosaurs!” and pulls the green Brontosaurus out of the bag.
It’s just like the one the kid had.
Its big eyes look right at me. For a second it seems to blink at me with its big black lashes and then the crowd laughs and applauds as they all get the joke. Banini = dinosaur. Ha ha.
Alice takes the dinosaur and holds it by the neck and swings it over her head and everybody laughs again but I can’t see anything anymore because I’m lying on the ground caught in the jungle swelter of people’s legs and I can’t breathe.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Sure. No problem. I told you. I’m fine.”
It’s true, I guess. Sitting next to Alice in the waiting room, I don’t feel dizzy or anything, even if I am tired. Last night, she put the dinosaur on the bedside table, right in with her collection of little jeweled music boxes, and the damn thing looked at me all night long. Finally at four AM, I couldn’t stand it anymore and I shoved it under the bed. But in the morning, she found it and put it back, and it’s been looking at me ever since.
Alice squeezes my hand. The rejoo clinic’s a small one, private, carefully appointed with holographic windows of sailboats on the Atlantic so it feels open and airy even though its daylight is piped in through mirror collectors. It’s not one of the big public monsters out in the clusters that got started after rejoo’s patents expired. You pay a little more than you do for the Medicaid generics, but you don’t rub shoulders with a bunch of starving gamblers and nitheads and drunks who all still want their rejoo even if they’re wasting every day of their endless lives.
The nurses are quick and efficient. Pretty soon, Alice is on her back hooked up to an IV bladder with me sitting beside her on the bed, and we’re watching rejoo push into her.
It’s just a clear liquid. I always thought it should be fizzy and green for growing things. Or maybe not green, but definitely fizzy. It always feels fizzy when it goes in.
Alice takes a quick breath and reaches out for me, her slender pale fingers brushing my thigh. “Hold my hand.”
The elixir of life pulses into her, filling her, flushing her. She pants shallowly. Her eyes dilate. She isn’t watching me anymore. She’s somewhere deep inside, reclaiming what was lost over the last eighteen months. No matter how many times I do it, I’m surprised when I watch it come over someone, the way it seems to swallow them and then they come back to the surface more whole and alive than when they started.
Alice’s eyes focus. She smiles. “Oh, God. I can never get used to that.”
She tries to stand up, but I hold her down and beep the nurse. Once we’ve got her unhooked, I lead her back out to the car. She leans heavily against me, stumbling and touching me. I can almost feel the fizzing and tingling through her skin. She climbs into the car. When I’m inside, she looks over at me and laughs. “I can’t believe how good I feel.”
“Nothing like winding back the clock.”
“Take me home. I want to be with you.”
I push the start button on the car, and we slide out of our parking space. We hook onto the magline out of Center Spire. Alice watches the city slide by outside the windows. All the shoppers and the businessmen and the martyrs and the ghosts, and then we’re out in the open, on the high track over the jungle, speeding north again, for Angel Spire.